


The Snake and the Badger

by UlternateFreak



Category: Iron Man (Movies), Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Harry Potter Setting, Boys Being Boys, Gay Harley Keener, Harley Keener is a Slytherin, Hufflepuff, Hufflepuff/Slytherin Inter-House Relationships, M/M, Michelle Jones is a Little Shit, Mudblood, Muggle-born, Secret Crush, Slytherin, peter parker is a hufflepuff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-21
Updated: 2020-08-05
Packaged: 2021-03-04 01:54:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 10,513
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24835693
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/UlternateFreak/pseuds/UlternateFreak
Summary: Proud Slytherin, Harley Keener, doesn't care for 'pretty' inessential things - though fellow Hufflepuff, Peter Parker, may be the exception to that rule.Harry Potter AU.(Briefly - formerly - titled "Look to Like, or Like to Look?")
Relationships: Harley Keener/Peter Parker, Michelle Jones & Harley Keener
Comments: 33
Kudos: 351





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I wholeheartedly believe that MCU Peter Parker is more Hufflepuff than Gryffindor, though I can see the argument there. Harley Keener, seeing as the slate is blank for who he became later in life, is probably either Gryffindor or Slytherin based on what we've seen. Personally, I prefer the little shit aspect and tend to think of him as a more cunning and ambitious person, with small tendencies to be daring.
> 
> ...
> 
> One-shot for now. Possible expansion if liked.

Harley Keener wasn't one for recklessness. He was brash, and daring, sure – more so than he had ought to be, though not to the extent of those foolish Gryffindors. Who did things without consequence or forethought.

Rather, there proved a matter of intent and focus – of provisional direction when faced against the need for quick action.

Yet still, one could have had argued over stupidity of reason. And many had attempted to. Though Harley had always dissuaded such standings by simply reiterating that he at the very least had taken reason to begin with.

Everything he did had purpose. Everything he thought proved essential.

As fellow Slytherin, Michelle Jones, had put it one day, _"what's the use of a Remembrall if you can't possibly remember what you've clearly forgotten?"_

For Harley, that essentially proved a motto. If inessential, then it mattered very little - even in spite of it's _prettiness_ or attractive nature.

Peter Parker, as a person - in that regard - proved inessential then. He was daft – partially, and often forgot a great number of things that one would normally classify as important. Most days, he'd forget to bring his quill to potions. Others, his wand. Or he'd bring the wand only to fling it across the room - forgetting to take heed, and to grip it tightly.

Though his loyalty remained astounding. His kindness, more so than even that. If forced to flee or fight for something, or someone, he had felt worthy of, than he'd happily die trying to save them. Wand or not.

That, in of itself, stood as a prime virtue of Hufflepuff House. _Loyalty_. But it had also stood as a weakness. The colors of yellow and black simply meaning that love could undo those who were bounded by them.

In spite of that - mainly in line with Harley's lack of fondness for pretty inessential things - Peter Parker had proven himself a constant figure within his life. Always there - and always the near exception to every rule put forth by his hand.

"Careful," Michelle Jones had voiced, her stare indirectly linked to Harley but leveled in a deep off-handed sort of severity. "One may think you look to like." She had paused, ever for the timing - but more for the pleasure of catching Harley's direct line of sight. "Or maybe you just like to look."

Harley had chanced another brief glance towards the table across from their own. Where Peter Parker sat, his smile neat and complacent against the bindings of a scarf that had coiled about his neck like a magnificent serpent. If he had stared a tad longer than he had meant to, then it was only due to the faint blush that had begun to sneak along the boy's delicate-looking cheekbones.

"What's there to look at?" He had then asked.

And though Michelle's grin had vanished, replaced by the casual grimace she had often sported - he had deflated.

"What?"

"Your weakness is showing," Michelle had said simply - a book apparating before her. The charm a mere whisper of muscle memory. "I'd be careful. Some people-," at this she had crossed, her eyes brimming towards the Thompson heir who sat sandwiched between his two goons, Osborn and Toomes, "-may take advantage of such a thing."

Flash had given Harley a toothy grin for his looking - his face laxxed, but eyes full of a flirtatious lust that had gone unspoken for quite a while now. Though constantly he had proven himself a lover, at heart - but not the sort of lover that Peter, naturally - probably - was. His love was defiling, after all, and ugly - and Harley would have had never given him the time of day if not for his bloodline. Not that Harley had truly cared for such a thing. Really, that notion had proved more his father.

_"Mud-bloods are the stain of the wizarding world."_

Harley had wanted to argue against those words once. Rather, twice - though, truthfully, hundreds of times. Because if muggle-borns were so abhorrently horrid than why was Peter Parker so bewitchingly careless?

"I'm not scared of Eugene," Harley had remarked, his hands going for a small helping of what was either porridge or oatmeal. "He may be of blood, but his talent and ability is subpar. Is this made of oats-?"

"To that of Parker, you mean."

"To that of everyone," he had scoffed, "who's talking about Parker?"

"Oh," Michelle had said, feigning a look of off-handed perplexion, "I thought - oh, this is really awkward..."

"What?" He had repeated.

"I thought the two of you were snogging," she had continued, still jesting along to the ruse from behind her book. "Oh. How terrible I feel for assuming-"

"You're an idiot-"

"The kettle calling the pot?"

"What-?"

"What," she had repeated, displacing her page altogether, "what - what. _What_. Stop acting like you don't understand me." Her knuckles had rose to knock against his head then, resounding as he had recoiled. "- just as I suspected - nothing."

"Stop that-!"

"You stop. Really. Use your head, and not your heart. Which I fear has been placed between your legs rather than your lungs-"

"It is not!" He had hollered.

Those within their near vicinity had quickly turned to regard them. Though the heated stare that the pair had offered, in turn, had dissuaded further comment.

And Michelle, to Harley's surprise, had simply chuckled.

"Hes looking at you." She had then said from behind her mess of curls, the laugh shallowing into a minced smile.

"Who-?"

"Who else."

Harley, against his better judgement, had turned to follow her sight. Finding a few stragglers - still perturbed by his earlier outcry - but more direly, Peter Parker himself. Who had sat upright with a sense of mirth dancing about the very tips of his lips.

"Fuck," Harley had said, turning back around to face Michelle.

"What-? _Wait_. Did you just-?"

"Yeah," he had spat, riddling his face into his arms. The movement trying for casual but marked in complete mortification.

He had smiled back.

Harley fucking Keener had gifted Peter Mud-blood Parker a fucking smile. And for what? Because he had done so first? Because he, _Peter_ , had looked so damn happy and completely amused by Harley's cry?

"You're a fucking simp." Michelle had said, returning to her book. "And frankly, I'm both delighted and disgusted by it."


	2. Chapter 2

Peter Parker sat on a lone pew due north to the main entrance of the courtyard. His face in deep concentration as he had poured every inch of himself into the parchment paper on his lap. Many of times he had stopped to sigh with a hand begrudgingly buried into his face, but mainly he had remained. Adamant in his studies.

And Harley, all the while, had stood and watched just directly opposite - against an un-particular archway at the other end of the perimeter. He hadn't expected the boy to be there - truly, Harley had often sat there by himself during this time of day. Always as a way to escape from everything and all else.

It was a secret garden, after all - not so secret as to be impossibly hard to find, but simply as unpopulated and unpopular as the many others that had flourished about the grounds of the castle.

So he had been pleasantly surprised by Peter's appearance. Especially in regards to the studying. Had Peter Parker ever studied before? He couldn't recall. At least, he hadn't ever seen him doing so.

In spite of what he had suspected was a grand mistake in theory, he had kept a detailed eye on the younger - by six months and twelve days - only as means to figure out if he was truly alone. Or merely awaiting for one of his bumbling acquaintances.

After what had felt like an agonizing amount of hours - only minutes if counted - Harley had seized courage and had begun a straight line to the other boy.

If spotted, one might have had mistook him as a predator on the prowl - looking for his next meal within the underestimated badger.

"Hey _Peter_ -"

To say that the effect had been immediate would have had proved a poor whisper of the truth. For the boy had jumped in his seat, his eyes wild for a brief lapse of time before surveying Harley's own for a trace of... _something_.

Harley hadn't actually been quite sure of what exactly that _something_ had entailed. But it was a sort of _something_ that one wasn't likely to overlook, nor entirely forget.

"Hi," Peter had then said breathlessly. A similar effect to how Harley had inwardly felt in himself. "Uh - Harley."

The echo of his name had felt odd, but justly right coming from the adorable boy. Who, today, lacked his signature scarf. Which, yes, that had proved rather weird in itself. Especially due to the fact that Harley had actually worn his because of the amount of bite swimming about the air.

"Wheres your scarf?"

"Oh," Peter had smiled lamely, "I gave it to Ned. He lost his-"

"He burnt it, you mean."

"How-?"

The boys eyes had narrowed, the question loose and quickly asked, but laced in true bewilderment as to Harley's knowledge over the events from earlier that day.

"I saw," Harley had said directly. To which, no - he hadn't.

"But you weren't there," Peter had said. To which, yes - he would surely know that to be fact, wouldn't he? "It was in potions-"

"Then I heard about it," he had continued, "- whichever. It's the same thing."

And again, it wasn't - and it hadn't been nowhere near to being that simple. Word had gone round about a student fire - sure, gossip did that but Harley had caught wind of Peter being the unfortunate victim of said fire. And his mind had journeyed to the worse conclusions before he had nearly beaten a Gryffindor into telling him every detail of the occurrence. And, more importantly, if Peter had been left unharmed or sent to the hospital wing. If not for the Ravenclaw girl coming to his aid, Harley might have had truly - albeit unintentionally - harmed the other student.

"Okay." Peter had then nodded, his smile slipping as he had moved to fold his notes over.

"Not okay. It's cold out. You'll catch a cold."

"And that matters to you why?"

"It doesn't," Harley had flushed. "I just - you shouldn't... What are you studying?"

Peter, in contrast to his words, had offered a laugh against Harley's attitude. His face flushing from the very cold that Harley had scolded him over. In turn, materializing a familiar looking shade of dusted-rose upon his cheeks.

"Herbology," Peter had answered, "I - it's really a weak subject for me."

"Surprised," Harley had said, "you're pretty good from what I've read of your O.W.L.S."

"You saw my O.W.L.S?"

"I-..." He began. "Yes. I did. I need to stay ahead of the curve. Can't do that if I don't mind the competition."

Another laugh.

"I'm no competition. Passable maybe - but not to your standards-"

"No. Don't sell yourself short, Parker. Now sure your habits may need," he nearly snided, " _working_. I'd start with technique and grip - and enunciation above punctuation, but there may still be potential within you yet. For a _Puff_ , I mean."

" _Thank-you_?" Peter had said with an awkwardly placed smirk.

"You're welcome," Harley had then said with a kind smile. One that read very little of the uncertainty over the previous compliment. At least, Peter had suspected that Harley had meant kindly by such words. 

_"Keener-!"_

The air had deflated from the older teen then, who had cautiously chanced another meeting to Peter before relating to the appearance of Flash Thompson. Whose lips had easily perked with a readied quip for the occasion.

"What are you doin' hanging with _Penis Parke_ r?"

The tone Flash had conveyed had rubbed against Harley's brow, and had squarely slapped against Peter's beautiful face. Removing his normally settled calmness of air into something that had angered him.

"What's it to you?" Harley had immediately retorted, steering round and direct.

"Hey, if you want to mess with some _Puffs_ then the least you can do is bring me along. Especially if its _Petey_ here-"

"No ones messing with anyone."

Harley had looked back to Peter then, who had simply watched the two in silent musings. _Brilliant_ , he had thought. Peter had known well enough to say very little. Course, perhaps - maybe, his mind had continued to supply - the boy had merely been too used to the abuse, and couldn't fathom the strength to rebuttal against it.

"Let's go," Harley had then barked, essentially falling to Flash's side with a turn of his heel.

"What about Parker-?"

"What about him? Leave him to study. You of all people should realize the importance of studying."

Flash had grimaced, the image of shame filtering past his features before settling back into a familiar look of cruelty.

"Catch you around, _Penis Parker_ -"

"I said leave him alone!"

Harley had whipped a hand to the others head then, smacking any further retort into deep silence - as his other, that being his more dominant hand, had drifted into his robes. Where the young wizard had naturally kept his wand for a moments whim.

"Okay - okay," Flash had childishly squealed. "Sorry-"

Harley had drawn his hand outward then, his wand taking heed and demanding for Flash to head out first. He did so, unceremoniously, with his head bent to the earth - failing, sequentially, to catch Harley's parting ' _goodbye_ ' to the boy still situated on the pew. Which mostly consisted of him withdrawing his scarf, and placing it on the inner lining of Peter's lap.

The boy, obviously perplexed, had only managed to watch as the scarf had transitioned from silver-green and into yellow-black.

By the time he had even considered returning to Harley, the pair had already rounded back through the far entrance. Flash in the lead - with a wand still burrowed into the crook of his shoulder blades.

_"I didn't say to look back, Eugene-!"_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I guess I do have a few ideas as to how to gradually continue this, so that's good! The amount of likes have been fair so naturally I quickly wrote another chapter. (So soon - I know, but I've had a lot more spare time recently and have been on a Harry Potter fix as of late).
> 
> I really do appreciate the feedback - and will see where this story goes!


	3. Chapter 3

"So I heard a very interesting rumor-" Michelle had greeted as she fell onto the loveseat. Her legs coming to lay over Harleys own - boots, scoured by the daily filth of having had walked about the castle grounds.

"Oh, by all means" the boy had said freely, his attention soley on the Daily Prophet paper in his hands, "join me. Take a seat- place your filthy shoes in my lap-"

"Why," she had conceded, "such a gentleman."

"No," he had said. "Chivalry is dead, Jones. I'm simply too tired to care."

She had hummed as a response to his words, her musings lingering on Harley's face for only a moment longer before opting to score about the room.

It had been dark - as per usual, their common room having had been established in the dungeons way back when. Why it had been chosen as so was an argument made daily. Sure, the dungeons had their perks - mostly without countless noise of passers - but damn was it noticeably depressing at times. And with such countless towers and spaces - would an accessible window really have killed someone? Without the risk of drowning, that is.

"So do you wanna know what it is?"

"What 'what' is?"

"The rumor," she had said perking up.

This time, Harley had hummed - though his had proved less enthusiastic then the one before. "I imagine you're going to tell me either way, so-"

"Flash says you and the Puff were making eyes at one another."

"Flash said that?" He had asked, still on the page, but notably deturbed in his readings.

"No," she had said, "he said you were sucking face, but you aren't man enough to do that so I assume he's adding flair-"

"He said _what_?"

That time the de-turbance had sparked, the intensity gravitating into a more venomous stride. In turn, forcing him to finally regard the girl completely.

"Relax," she had said calmly, "we'll get him back. Sides hes already pissing his pants since Harry wasn't supposed to tell me."

"Who?"

"Osborn?"

"His name is Harry?"

"For the last seventeen years," she had said underminedly, "or so I'm told. Anyway. What were you doing with Parker?"

"What makes you think I was actually with Parker?"

"Please. Flash is dramatic, sure. But he's not a complete liar."

Harley had nodded to that, finding truth in the overall sentiment. But it had hardly mattered in the slightest. For no matter how admirable - anything of content and actual merit had proven such a waste within the Thompson heir. A pity, really.

"We happened upon each other," Harley had then said, still, obviously, lost in his thoughts. "He was studying."

"And you just couldn't leave him alone?" She had teased.

"It was just chatting. He said some words, I said some words. It wasn't anything."

"And yet Flash was jealous enough to say otherwise."

"Eugene doesn't have a say in who I associate with."

"True," she had reasoned, "but he's been in love with you since first year, and suddenly a Puff proves more important to you." She paused. "I'd be pissed too."

Harley had sighed, the paper contented in staying in hand - but hardly important enough to reclaim full attention. Still, he had tried to feign placement within the article.

"There is nothing going on between me and Parker."

"Oh?" She had continued, "did I suggest that there was?"

"Its all you suggest. And frankly, it becomes less funny as you continue to do so. If I continue to speak to Parker than it's only out of boredom and not as something more. And even if it was, I couldn't care less of what Eugene would think. He and I haven't a thing between each other to begin with - so what need be the point of jealousy? But if you wish - or he wishes, for that matter - to continue to think that there is some sort of _thing_ between I and Parker than by all means, go right ahead. For it only proves a fraction more than what is between I and Flash. Which is absolute nothing."

"Wow," Michelle had crooned, her head lolling closest to his side, "you sure have a way with words. Peter must be so thrilled to have had caught your fancy-"

"He hasn't-!"

"Yeah-yeah," she had cut in, "with or without. To be or not to be. Whichever it is - you better set it straight, 'cause its only a matter of time before the rumors reach your precious little badger. And between you and I, I don't think he could take the jokes and the hatred that Flash is surely going to inflict upon him."

"...he wouldn't-"

"You know he can't-"

"No," Harley had corrected, "Flash wouldn't dare say another word to Peter. I've forbidden it. He'd be a fool to move against me."

"Right," Michelle had then nodded after a moment, eyes straying - but keeping relatively calm despite the shift in air between them. "Well that certainly changes things..."

The silence had continued to dwell. Its natural buzz crescending into an odd sort of off-kiltered pitch that could marvel the cries of a Mandrake. At least it had surely felt as if it could.

So, as one often tended to do, Harley had relented. His eyes peeking over just the brim of the paper in utter defeat.

"What?" He had said to her established staring.

"Oh, nothing," she had said simply, "it's just - well, if that's not a declaration of love than I'm clearly just a boggart whose forgotten their motivation."

"That-" Harley began, "that makes no sense."

"Neither do you," she had said, "and yet - here we are."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Small note: I highly enjoy writing for Michelle Jones. I'm not entirely sure why that is - but shes just great. Haha. And she would most definitely be besties with Harley Keener.
> 
> Anyway, I hope those who follow this story enjoy the update. I had to go out of town and so I'm writing this on my cellphone instead of my usual computer, so that's been interesting.
> 
> As always, I appreciate the feedback. Enjoy yourselves and continue to stay safe wherever you are.


	4. Chapter 4

Dinner had been relatively quiet. In the sense that no one had mentioned the current rumor still circulating about the school. And yet Harley had been keenly on edge, ears trained and prepped to catch even the faintest of whispers pertaining to the ordeal.

When the headmaster had spoken, Harley had almost expected him to speak true - to congratulate the couple and their happy union. Though it hadn't happened. And the feast had proceeded as any other night.

Flash, himself, had even acted courteously enough - bowing out after they had made direct eye contact with each other. And not the norm of flirty grins, and useless banter.  
  
Though things had always a way of coming to light. Even if time had halted it in it's tracks.

The shoe, in that sense - had dropped close to the end of the evening. In which, a ruckus had sparked mid-Hufflepuff house - centered to the left pew just south-west of Harley's own position.

Of course, this had been where Peter Parker had been sitting.

  
  
_**"You're dating Harley Keener!"** _

  
  
The voice had soared over all the others - calling inept attention that had easily been granted in toll.  
  
"No, Ned-" the immediate response had echoed, though even Peter himself could not silence the previous outcry from Edward Needs. Nor could he turn the amount of heads surveying them.  
  
And that had been well enough. After all, Harley had been mentally prepared for such a scene. So he had spoken calmly - calling for the attention to himself, and no other.

"Stop looking at him," he had ordered - gaining all, as planned - but underestimating the magnitude of Peter's own gratifying stare. For such a look had proved humorless. Because, yes - or rather no. Peter Parker would not - and could not - find humor in such a direct and damning exhange of words.

And though his mind had certainly felt broken in two halves by such truths, Harley had only continued on, "there is nothing between us."

  
  
**"That shall be enough-"**

  
  
The heads had ventured to the headmaster once again. Who had stood to his full height at the end of the long table centered to the far north quadrant of the room.

  
  
**"Return to your dinners - else the feast is over."**

  
  
They had listened that time around. Though Peter, himself, had continued to peer at Harley - who had only offered a singular shrug. Non-committal, and nowhere close to being an act of true consolidation for the younger boy.

  
  
"Well," Michelle had whispered, her own face lowered to the rather appealing garden salad on her plate, "that was beyond awkward."

Harley had hummed - again, rather noncommittal. But he hadn't turned to her. In fact, his eyes had remained with Parker - who had still cautiously glanced between them.

"...I'm gonna have to talk to him again, aren't I?" He had asked after yet another looking.

"As if you had decided otherwise?" She had asked.

He nodded. "I had hoped it wouldn't be about this."

"Quite the optimist then, aren't we?"

"Never," he had said. "I had just hoped for once that it would be easy."

"Foolishness then," she had forfeited.


	5. Chapter 5

Peter hadn't ventured to the secret garden after that night. In truth, Harley had hardly come to see him outside of dinner - and at no point in time had he even considered crossing the barriers and speaking to him between the tables. It hadn't ever been done before. Not by a Slytherin to a Mudblood. Unheard of. And certainly the boy wouldn't have had been able to deal with yet another public confrontation.

So in that regard, a week had gone by easily - quickly and passing, before Harley had come to find Peter standing by his lonesome in a corridor on the fifth floor. His head too preoccupied with a portrait that had hung emptily over the adjacent hallway.

Harley, still easily on edge, had halted in stride, and had watched from afar before breaking courage, and coming up to him. Besides and behind. With an air of grace that had worked endlessly to hide the pin-needles working along his arms and neck.

  
  
"What are we staring at-?"

  
  
The boy, just as the day in the garden, had jumped. The same peculiar eyes surveying him with an odd sort of look before settling into that unknown sort of - affection? No, never. Emotion then? Perhaps.

  
  
"-,Peter."

  
  
"Nothing," the boy had said. His shoulders drawn - with the average casualness replaced by yet another foreign entity. "I was just leaving-"

"Wait-"

Against instinct, Harley had reached out - his hand gripping a surprisingly firm, and lightly muscled, forearm. "Parker, please-"

"What?"

The boy had steered clear, head still drawn but eyes now solely focused, and adamant, in their pursuit against him.

"I just..." Harley stalled. "Are you alright?"

It hadn't been what he had set out to ask. Really, he hadn't known what he would say once faced with the boy again. Certainly he had suspected, or had orchestrated a handful of scenarios in his head. But neither method had mentally prepared him for how it would actually _feel_ once forced to entertain the meeting.  
  
Salazar Slytherin was certainly turning in his grave for such impotence.

  
  
"How am I?" Peter had repeated. Sounding, all the while, quite perplexed and beyond confused.

Harley nodded.

"Why do you care?"

"Why shouldn't I-?"

Peter had blanked, inwardly removing himself from space. His eyes reflecting some hidden world forsaken by most, but gifted to those blessed enough to be saved.

"You-," he had began, succumbing to the natural world once again. With every ounce of directness - and dare he say, hatred - rooted there as before. "You - and Flash-"

"There is no me and Flash," Harley had chided, "-sorry, just... That's the truth. He and I are not to be lumped together. No matter what anyone says."

"Then _you_ didn't start that rumor-?"

"Of course not," he had said, "Flash was just upset because - well, it doesn't really matter why. But I hadn't a thing to do with it. Honest. Is that why you look constipated - are you crossed with me?"

"What? No," Peter had said after a pause, "I'm not... I was just." That hidden world flashed before his eyes as before, tied along together to that emotional baring that read somewhere between uncertainty and mild affection. "...I believe you."

"You do?"

"I do. I can tell you're telling me the truth."

"Good," Harley had returned. Though his mind had immediately jumped against that notion, relenting how Peter couldn't possibly be able to gauge exact truth against the lies and cruelty of the human world. Let alone, Harley's own. Not that he had been lying. Peter just proved lucky enough against his mostly true and pure intentions.

"But," he had said instead, "I did hear of it beforehand. That I should be honest about."

"You did?"

"I did. But I had hoped it wouldn't reach you. Against better judgement, I just hoped... I guess it was stupid to want that to be true, knowing what was certainly going to happen."

"That's very uncharacteristic of you," Peter had said.

"I know. Believe me."

"Again," Peter had sighed, "I do."

Harley had nodded then. His mind still turning knots as his voice had resigned itself into complete silence.

His attention, in turn, had brought him back to the still empty portrait hanging overhead. It's subject matter most likely stalking about in another's frame. A lover, perhaps? Friend? Who ever really knew...

"But - if you knew," Peter had continued in and around that very silence, "then why didn't you say anything? At all, I mean. Not just to me."

Harley shrugged. "I suppose I thought very little of it."

"Because-?"

" _Because_ it wasn't true?"

"Oh."

"Yeah," Harley had said, "just - rumors are beneath me. And Flash could think whatever he wants."

"He doesn't want me to hang around you-"

"He told you that-?"

"No," Peter had calmed, hands braced - hovering over Harley's chest like a disarming shield, "I heard. Presumed, mainly. But it's what he wants, right?"

Harley had stood transfixed against the hands still hanging in the air between them. The fingers delicate, but sturdy enough to show years of calloused workings. Muggle-work, his mind had helpfully supplied. Still, they had looked relatively soft and - endearing. Could hands be endearing?  
  
"Frankly, I don't care what he wants," Harley had said, "if I so choose to associate my time with you then I am free to do so."

This time, Peter had looked to the portrait - his lips tight laced into a firm and broad looking line as he scanned about the moldings and fillets adorning along the curvatures of the wood.

  
"And do you?"

  
"Do I 'what'?" Harley had asked, steering thought from Peter's dangerous looking mouth.

"Do you wish to associate your time with me?"

He frowned. "I would think it obvious."

"How so? You've hardly spoken to me before this."

"Maybe not directly," he had said in earnest, "or in proper etiquette beyond mere passings, but I don't do anything that I don't wish to. Should you need to hear it though - then I'd happily associate with you if time would permit. Likewise - should you permit me."

"I do," Peter had nodded.

"Good."

" _Good_ ," he had repeated, "and damn the rumors, I suppose?"

"Damn them all," Harley had said. 

"Because they're beneath you?" Peter had asked.

" _Because_ your truth matters more than they do."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As I write these updates, you may notice that the amount of eventual end entries changes.  
> By this update, I put the chapters up to 7. I now know where, and how, I wish to end this piece - but I keep finding myself expanding how much I wish to explore before reaching there. As in, I had thought by chapter 5, I would end things but I'm having fun with small updates - and find joy in expanding what was essentially a small one-shot to begin with. So, I guess all that I'm really saying here is that the numbers may still change beyond 7. Haha


	6. Chapter 6

_"Your truth matters more than they do..."_

_You matter more than they do..._

_You matter more..._

Those words had echoed through his mind in countless turnings after that evening. Always resilient and teasing - and merged in both language and tongue, closely in resemblance to that of Michelle Jones. She hadn't any knowledge of those words though. And yet there she had remained - a ghostly whisper of an accidental slip. Not that Peter had brought it up. But Harley was sure that he had caught the meaning behind them. The intent - that was surely there even if Harley would be the first to argue against it.

Yet - ...nothing.

So he had tried to forget the ghost - choosing, instead to keep to his word and become a form of an acquaintance to Peter Parker.

Time, as would have it, had been relatively accepting of the matter. Offering ample light to his and Peter's outings. Often, they had met in the garden - to catch up on days missed. Insignificant, in hindsight, but intriguing to an absurd degree.

"Potions, easily-" Harley had answered one afternoon. The day being drawn as any other - but marked as their 25th mutually agreed upon appointment. Not that Harley had voiced it, of course. But the sun had been fair, with the sky veiled in a steady rhythm of blues. So suitably, it had been quite the anniversary.

"What? Surprised?"

"Yes actually," Peter had said.

"You thought Dark Arts then?" Harley had chuckled in light of Peter's crestfallen look. "Its alright, I understand. I excel in dark magic - but atlas, it isn't near my field of study. Honestly, I couldn't care less about it."

Again - amidst laugh, Peter had said nothing.

"Come on - don't fret-"

"Its just rude," Peter had resigned, easily deflated in tone, "I still assume things because your of Slytherin house-"

"As do I," Harley had helpfully aided, "I never would have guessed you a fine chess player after all-"

"Hufflepuffs can't play chess?"

"Not with the skill you entail. I've been told you're just - well, _just_ really. Helga took those who were left over-"

"Because we haven't a mindset of one thing over another," Peter had said, "is it wrong to want to have a balance of things? Not just smarts - or ambition, or courage. But just - _just_? I don't need to be one thing. I just need to be me."

"I suppose," Harley had said - compelled by the adorably well-mannered smile that had peeked forth between those words. A much more suitable sight than the last. "Its better than being known as a complete arse-"

"You're not-"

"Thanks. But I most definitely am. Least my father assures I should be."

"I disagree. You're nowhere near a bigot-"

"Is that a muggle word-?"

"Yes," Peter had nodded, "it stems from hatred and racism - which is the equivalent of hating muggle-borns. Only for muggles, it has more to do with ones skin."

"What of their skin?"

"Different colors. Races."

"Ah, I see," Harley had said with a slight tilt to his head, "well, I don't really understand how someones skin color could make them any different-"

"Precisely. Just as muggle-born wizards are the same as any other wizards."

"They aren't though-"

At that, Peter had deflated again - though it had hurt a bit more than the one before. For his eyes had immediately turned cold. Frowning even against the deep recesses of his pupils.

"That is," Harley had hastily continued, "muggle-borns - such as yourself - are far kinder than any pure-bloods I've ever met."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To Note:  
> As said before, this is highly entertaining to write. So by all means, the music must play on.  
> 


	7. Chapter 7

Harley Keener had known for quite some time that he had belonged to Peter Parker.

He could, in fact, pinpoint the exact moment of concepted infatuation over the Hufflepuff boy. At least, he had understood - and had completely given himself into a moment of emotional baring over said boy. Only later, realizing it for what it had been.

Peter's parents had died around his eighth birthday. The story already crafted amidst their first year at Hogwarts. Mainly, in part, due to Harley's peers, who had deemed the boy a failure even before the sorting hat had spoken.

For everyone had known the circumstances surrounding the Parker's.

They had been muggles. Had died in a very offhanded muggle sort of way, even. But Richard Parker hadn't been the sole focus of the tale - instead, it had belonged to that of his half-brother, Benjamin - who had been of wizarding blood by way of his mother. His father, however, had proved every bit of a muggle -and had then, after his birth, gone to seek a woman of his own kind. Abandoning, and condemning, his prior family.

A scandalous tale as one could get within their knitted community.

Upon their deaths, young Peter had been given to Ben - the only known familial figure to be left - and his then fiance, May. Together, they had surmised a life of wealth - both being of old money and old blood, and Peter had been given a chance at a life he hadn't known. Not that any one had ever given him chance to enjoy it for what it was. The rumors had circulated early on - the moral of Peter's birth raising out cry between dirty blood and the sheer contamination of the lot. Many had come to shun the Parker's for their obvious and imminent love for the bastard child of the family. Especially May. Who had not only garnered a new husband, but nearly a son. One whom she had doted over at every turn.

Still, the quaint family had continued to thrive. Peter, ever the obedient son, had surpassed every expectation - surprising, even his own, on his ability to charm his way through life. The first sign of magic had surfaced once Peter had turned ten - against a muggle bully, no less. Who had tried to subdue his head into a toilet - only for the sewer water to take hold of said attacker instead.

His letter - just as any other student - had come around his eleventh year. Parceled and stamped.

And Ben and May had cherished in these accomplishments. To which there were a fair many more. Even in spite of the still unrelenting, and undeserving, ridicule at hand. Now granted by the world he had been _lucky_ enough to inhabit.

But as all tales did - things had come to an abrupt end, with Benjamin Parker meeting a foul death in Knockturn Alley. Still to this day a mystery. Not as a means as to a 'why', but rather a 'who'.

Peter had been in his third year then, and had crumpled in both body and soul following the death headlined in the Daily Prophet. And Harley had watched him - finding the melancholy complexion a marvel of the human spirit.

Not that he had enjoyed the look - rather, it had perplexed him. For though a filthy Mud-blood, the boy had proved himself a creature of _feeling_. Not only that, but a wizard with good to great marks who _felt_ \- cried, even. Openly and without worry of threat. Even against the crude and inappropriate jests made towards him as he did.

Now surely Harley had known that Peter would eventually grow out of this, turning to masks and the like in order to hide behind rather than to reveal the truth of his emotional turmoil. And yet - well... He had nearly wished that the boy could stay that way. Not in sorrow, but in truth and passion - no matter the cost of the ugliness.

"Here," Harley had said without thought, hovering close but not nearly as closely situated as his feet had tried to carry him. Daring, he knew - but persistent and intriguing nonetheless.

His arm, all the while, had dug into his robes, in search of the lone handkerchief that he had always carried somewhere upon his person.

The boy, to the surprise of absolutely no one, had looked rather stunned by the sudden appearance - his face still riddled in tears. But he had evaluated Harley like a Hippogriff - with eyes turning cold and oddly threatening, before coming to his offered hand only once his looking had been completely satisfied.

"I don't-..." Peter had attempted to say. His voice wilting away as a new string of tears had taken root in his lashes.

"Take it," Harley had insisted, "your face - its... Not that -" he paused, "I mean, you have a good reason to cry. And it's okay to, because - well, I'm sorry about your uncle. He was a good man no matter what anyone says. And - well you go ahead and cry as much as you need to, Parker. Just - wipe your face is all."

  
Harley hadn't expected his mouth to behave in such a way. It had been his first, in truth. Of him not knowing how to act - or even what to say. Especially around Peter. So instead of keeping near - awaiting for a proper response - he had forced the boy's hand to seize the handkerchief with a quick, and timid, turn about. His hastily, unplanned exit, not even daring a chance at a returning glance - else risking the consequence of his heart tearing itself from within, and up and into the cavity of his throat.

  
Again, Harley hadn't understood the full meaning behind that feeling. But he had known that an emotion had been felt.

And that Peter Parker had been the only person to have had ever retrieved such a thing from him.


	8. Chapter 8

"Are you friends with any of your house mates?"

The question had been asked on a rather uneventful day. No longer an anniversary, nor really a deep sentimental talk about who they were to each other.

The sky, in contrast to the week before, had been average even - masked in littered clouds of gray. Neither exceptionally gloomy nor entirely bright.

It almost stood as he and Peter had - just there, and finally without exception or dismay. Just...just.

"Not really-" Harley had answered, his head perched upon his arm tossed behind him.

The two had left the pew long ago, finding the earth far more suitable for lounging - with both laying on their backs and faces preened to the sky overhead.

"Not even MJ?"

"Who?"

"Michelle," Peter had said, "Jones?"

"Is that what other people call her?" He had asked, finally looking to Peter.

"That's what she permits me to call her."

"You speak to her then? On a basis?"

"No, not really," Peter had said, "she makes remarks though - only in jests, of course. Kindly, as in jokes. Well, they're rather dry observations but they make me laugh."

"I see..." Harley had nodded - his face slipping into an eclipsed smirk as the sky became his focal as before. Though the amusement had been easily lost - proving neither a try, nor an attempt at foolery. "So shes caught your fancy then?"

"What? No." Peter had flushed, sitting up. "T-that's not to say that she isn't beautiful or anything of the sort. Shes just - not my type."

"And what precisely is your _type_?"

"I'm... I'm not entirely sure that I have one," he had answered. "Though... - I suppose kindness isn't terrible, nor smarts - or the ability to make me laugh, actually."

"Simple enough-"

"Its more than that-" He had said.

"Then you do have a type-"

"No - m-maybe. I don't know," he had continued, "I've never thought about it. But I'm not easily turned by a smile-"

"That's not what I meant-"

"I know," Peter had sighed. "I just..." At that, he had casted himself over - nearly shadowing Harley who had still remained at ease in the grass. "I don't want you having the wrong idea about me."

"We've already truce-d," Harley had said as he leveled an arm out for Peter to take, "Remember? No more assumptions - between either houses. Except Gryffindor."

"They aren't all bad-" Peter had defended for the umpteenth time - still taking his hand easily.

He brought Harley upward then, both now sitting upright - but making no other counter move to stand.

"Gryffindor should rightfully burn beneath you Puffs - they're arrogant-"

"And you aren't?"

"That's different," Harley had said, "I don't pretend to be for the greater good when really I bully and look down to others because I'm a superior lion. There deeds are all for glory - quite ambitious, if you ask me - only, again, they feign all that behind a mask of righteousness. Every Gryffindor I've ever personally met has looked to me in disdain without even so much as a single thought as to who I really am. And for what? Because they are from the house of the _good_ \- so clearly, they are better than everyone else by default?"

"People," Peter had tried, his hand still held around Harley's own. And really, he hadn't felt compelled enough to call for it's release - so there it had remained. "Are complicated. I think there's good and bad in every house. You, for one, are living proof of that."

"...really-?"

"You think Ned - or anyone - approves of me meeting you here? Of being your friend?" He had laughed. "People only see the surface of things. Perhaps those who are seemingly cruel are actually the most kindhearted. Only they mask in cruelty to protect their own weak and vulnerable hearts. Is it right? No. But is it human? Terribly so."

Harley had hummed along - nodding to a degree as he had fastened his hold on the other. "Wise words... - courageous even. You continue to defy your house for me, and do what you wish. And people assume Puffs to be push overs. Perhaps you're more fitting for a lion, after all."

"And would you like me any less if I were-?"

The smile that Peter had presented had been fond and teasingly light. With eyes full of a daring mirth that had marveled that of a woodland imp. Perhaps that had held the key to his riddle then. Peter was a creature of folktale. He, just as the many other magical creatures, had carried an enchantment with him in order to fool, and properly misguide, their prey.

In that regard, who was the more dangerous then - the snake or the badger?

"It's hard to say," Harley had finally relented, his loose hand picking at the blades of grass between his fingertips, "I honestly think it impossible to accurately measure my affections for you, Peter."

The smile had slipped. Replaced, as was the new norm, by that same sort of off-character look that Harley still hadn't completely figured out. Even after each appearance - it remained as lost as the last one before it. Fond, maybe - emotional, sure - but what else...?

"Is that a good thing?" Peter had dared to ask.

"Depends-," Harley had said. Though his voice had betrayed him, coming in lighter than a loosely kept, imbalanced, feather.

"On...?"

He had sighed. "Whether such affections could be earned by you. Or accepted as they are... As I am. Even against the stirrings of last month-"

Peter had nodded, catching meaning. Recalling those cruel taunts that had filtered then - some, lingering, still. But more so surrounding that particular time at dinner. That evening had been awkward for sure. But his housemates, and others, following that night had been even worse.

_"I know-" "Maybe-"_

Both boys had fallen into a pause then - both motioning for the other to continue.

"Go ahead," Harley had said.

And Peter, with his face straying to look at his hands - had, once again, nodded.

"If what I think you're saying is what you're actually saying, then...maybe." Is all he said, his hand - like Harley's - giving into yet another squeeze between them.

And perhaps those words had been courageous enough for the both of them. Or perhaps courage, in itself, had gone beyond the mere qualities of Gryffindor house - else Harley had clearly been marked wrongly his entire life.

For he had scoured - surely, of course - face falling into stone as he had creened forward. But his left hand, which had laid limply at his side defiling the earth, had risen as well - moving over to coach against smooth milky-white skin.

  
"I know," Harley had whispered against Peter's cupped face, understanding it as his own turn to speak, "that things grew awkward last this came up... But it's as I said before, Peter. I only care for your truth. So please-"

"Maybe," Peter had nodded. "It's still maybe, Harley-"

"Okay - but may I-?"

"Yes,"

It had been surreal - and not at all as Harley had expected. Really, when was it ever with Peter? But his lips had finally come to take ownership of Peter's daringly dangerous mouth. And the other had permitted him to do so. He had even pressed further, still maintaining an innocent light touch through the workings. Enough so that Harley had turned to trail deeper - idly displacing that innocence into something much more grounded, and far more human.

After what had surely been an eternity, Harley had pulled away - hovering close with clearly marked cheeks that had rivaled even the deepest shade of Gryffindor house.

"Thank-you," he had said - clearly not knowing what else to possibly say. His hand still encompassed over that same smooth and delicate cheekbone.

And Peter, "you're welcome," had clearly been just as forsaken. His head dipping, and pressing into that offered hand without discourse, nor worry .

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Side Note:  
> Harley's overall feelings are very relevant to some rooted truths here. I'm not under the impression that all Gryffindors are horrid people - but the many I've met in my life who proudly claim their mane tend to be far uglier of people than the bad-rep Slytherins. It's bizarre. But it's something that's been proven true to me time and time again. I do, however, wonder if anyone else in the HP community has ever experienced this as well.


	9. Chapter 9

The first morning light of Spring had amassed about the clock tower, its spirits in score with the vines that had begun to sickle against its potent and tendered warmth. Growing in intricate designs between, and above, the weathered stones - ending only upon the impervious hands of time.

The passers - ongoing in the hordes - hadn't stopped to appreciate these endeavors. Instead continuing about the mill, their voices braided in rushed babblings. With some - nearly spoken true, but most in line with juvenile assumptions.

Peter, nor Harley for that matter, hadn't mentioned the kiss from the week before, and yet the rumors had continued to parade about. Winding and weaving much like the vines overhead. This time, however, unquestioned - and un-retracted by either party at hand.

Peter - against the continuous pedaling of judgement and besmirchment - had continued to sit with the Hufflepuffs at breakfast, lunch, and dinner - Harley, with the re-framed mumblings of the Slytherins.

Talking, to one another, only in private or in occasional passings throughout the halls. Never more than necessary - and never as closely intimate as before.

Due to this, Harley had been plagued with many intrusive thoughts. His minds eye returning to that first - his first, and only - kiss each waking moment of his day. Divulging into far sinister, and sensual pleasures, when left to the lonely shadows of the night. Marveling in either accord, but always aching for that which Peter had taken from him.

_And for what? Where had they stood? Why hadn't Peter breached the subject to him?_

For this reason, and this alone, Harley hadn't surged - his own courage now lost between the days - and had idly placed that rational side of himself into a key-locked cupboard. Giving in to the countless turnings at night, and praying that he'd drift off into unconsciousness before the rise of a new dawn.

"Careful," Michelle had said around a spoonful of tomato soup, "you'll give yourself an ulcer trying to un-riddle that."

Harley had granted her a direct line - to which the girl had toyed with, her own sights returning to the Puff that was surely sitting somewhere close behind him. Else what reason would she have had to look?

"He isn't a that," he had said. "Nor am I fifty-"

"It isn't only for the elderly," she had said, forgoing a moment to feed and properly wipe her mouth against her sleeve, "still - you're gonna hurt yourself. So relax - and just come clean to your little toy already-"

"Do not-"

"It isn't exactly a secret anymore, is it?" She had asked. "And in case you haven't noticed - no ones physically doing a damn thing about it. So what's the issue? Why are you all hot and bothered-?"

"Hehasn'tsaidanything-"

"Pardon?"

"He hasn't said anything," Harley had repeated, teeth barred and braced into a quipped grimace.

"Peter, you mean?"

He nodded. His face meaning to fall somewhere between - 'what do you think?' and 'who else could I possibly be talking about?' - but failing miserably, and reading more of pity and saturated regression.

"Why? What did you do?"

"Ikissedhim-"

"Enunciate, dammit-"

"I kissed him."

"Oh," she had said, face only momentarily lapsing before a glint had surfaced within the iris of her eye - "do you reckon it was bad?"

"No-"

"Did you slobber him? Was there too much teeth? I know, you made that weirdly constipated face again, didn't you?"

He glared.

"Yeah - that one-"

"No," he had repeated, "he was fine. He still is fine. He just - we don't... talk about it."

"Have you tried talking about it?" She had asked delicately then, her finger probing against the stack of crackers brimming around her bowl.

"Why does it have to be me?"

"Well, did you make the first move-?"

"Yes-"

"Then, there's your answer."

"No," Harley spat, "he clearly doesn't want to talk about it. So I couldn't possibly-"

"God. What is up with you?" She had remarked with a toss of her head, "where is my best-friend? Have you seen Harley Keener anywhere, Miss? Oh, I'm sorry - you can't hear me because your wearing your ass like a hat-"

"I am not!"

"Then man up, Keener-!" She had cried, in turn. Effortlessly surpassing him in both tone and grit. "You're a damn Slytherin. Reel that Puff in with some pride, and stop sulking about. Really. I preferred you when you were longingly stalking the poor boy-"

The table had rattled off then - Michelle braced upon leathered heel as she had gathered her cloak and belongings.

"Where are you going-?"

"I have a date," she had said, then - "no - not that sort of _date_. Not that you'd care-"

"I would-"

"You don't care about anything outside of yourself," she had said - finally stalling in her movements and looking to him directly. "Else you'd consider that Peter might not know how to breach such a delicate subject since you yourself seem adamant in not speaking about it."

"And furthermore," she had continued after a turn. The clarity of Harley not knowing how to respond imminent - and, honestly, far too upsetting even for her own standards. "Whatever whispers you may hear are only breaths compared to the winds hanging over him. So consider doing the right thing if you are serious in your affections - else forget it and let him continue to suffer under the mess you've created."

Harley had only stared - his mouth agaped as the girl had sped off, tossing only a brief connotation of a farewell glance as she had went. Her mouth, all the while, still working as she had marched on.

"And get some sleep-"

The last note bad broken the spell between them - Michelle's heels fading out as Harley had become acutely aware of the all too familiar by now wanderers. Easily, he had removed them - glaring as he often did. Obtaining the effect he had always garnered with effortless dissuasion. Yes - right, Michelle had slightly criticized that very thing, had she not? Instilling that Peter neither had the privilege, nor the bone, to enact such a defense against what was essentially a breath of the issue at hand.

With that thought, Harley had sought the boy out - finding him on the table directly behind, yes - and, always it would seem, with the larger Puff boy. But he had also been looking down, and far removed than usual. And while the snickering had been light, eyes rerouting between that and this - those scattered about him had easily settled on Peter with equal tidings of spite and judgmental stride. Looks that Harley had always come to face now and then.

And while, of course, the first response to that had been anger - nearly propelling him to call for his wand - Harley had also considered a moment of thought. Stalling, and forgoing, the violence in the name of Peter. Who - despite the odds - hadn't been glaring or even trying to dissuade the looks. Rather, he had been smiling - but not in the joyous sort of gaiety way that Harley had become entirely fond of. No, this had been a mask. A mask of bruised obedience, and falsely rooted pretense.

The same sort of mask that Harley's father had distilled into him over the years. If not to avoid feeding into anger, then to relent himself from the abuse that his father would have had shown should he had continued to contradict his beliefs.

This, he knew. This, Harley had understood. But for Peter to have to endure such a thing... - well, it hadn't been fair. Nor right.

And Peter Parker had deserved better than that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some of you may read this and think it a re-post. Which it is, sort of.  
> Today, while working on the new - and possibly final - chapter, I came to a block and decided to venture back and get the groove of things going again. By doing so, I found several areas where this fic lacked, and had to fix a few things.  
> Most fixes were minimal, wording - etc. (Though also some of Harley's reactions to things - in order to keep his characterization much more grounded). Only one thing proved a massive change in narration, in which I placed the last updated chapter in the spot before it.  
> This was the Parker's history chapter. Basically, I decided to rest it before the kiss scene because I felt the flow was broken from where I had firstly written it into.
> 
> Feel free to go back and reread if wanting to see the changes, and let me know if the over all chapters were changed for the better if you can.


	10. Chapter 10

"Harley?"

The voice had called for inept attention at once. With thoughts, though heavy and dauntingly determined, subsiding for the very cheery face now perched into frame.

Harley had been sitting just outside an adjacent hallway - a square, not unlike that of the garden, but much smaller in size and unremarkable in every way - the bench resting just below the sill of the windowless arch leading out.

"Were you waiting for me?" Peter had asked. The tips of his ears radiating warmly.

And though Harley had easily yearned to disarm such a thought, he had nodded anyway.

For this hadn't been in line with his usual steps - and Harley knew that Peter had known that.

"Sort of," he had subsided instead.

The air had been rather warm - no longer calling for the need of scarves or the likes, no matter the adorableness they held. Rather, the heat had insisted on Harley to go without proper robes. His free period permitting him a moment to only adorn his shirt and tie.

Sitting there, Harley had felt rather under-dressed against Peter's complete attire. Though again, the air had been relatively warm. With his person feeling even hotter now that Peter had shown.

"You needed something?"

"Not quite," he had begun, knowing that the following would only willow himself further into absurdity. Though just as before, he had continued anyway. "Just wanted to see you."

Peter, teeth and all, had smiled brilliantly at Harley. His eyes returning to proper light before making haste, his body casually swinging itself onto the very sill still situated between them - "scootch-" - and plopping down on the bench besides him.

"There was a door," Harley had said rather lamely. His attention drawn to the mess of tangled knots in the other boys hair. A nest in every right, but soft and alluring all the same.

"And you could have just waited another two hours," Peter had said, "I would have met you per routine."

To that, yet another lame attempt at casualness. With the flick of Harley's head admitting acknowledgement to that particular fact while not exactly owning up to it.

"Are you alright-?"

"Am I alright?" Harley had repeated. "Yes, why? Do I not seem alright?"

"Not entirely. No."

"Truly?" He had asked. "Is it that obvious?"

Peter nodded. "So then you are? Or aren't. Whichever. What's wrong?"

"It isn't wrong," Harley had said, "well - it is. But not. Not in that sort of sense- But really not in the sort you may now be thinking it either-"

"Harley-" Peter had said, voice taking a much smoother tone than before, "you're babbling-"

"I know," he had returned, "I tend to do that a lot round you."

"Meaning?"

"Meaning my head can't properly think straight when I'm besides you-"

"Oh," Peter had said, "I'm sorry. Should I go?"

"What? No. That isn't at all what I had meant - just..." Harley's breathing had littered between them, coming in short gasps as he had continued to stare the Hufflepuff down. Peter, though now properly reserved, had simply looked back - standing his ground.

He had been determined, in a sense. Though knew the possibility of flight to be expected. And what of that? Did such a tactic arise from a place of understanding, or fear that Harley might have had felt provoked enough to lash out?

"I'm not angry at you, or anything. If that's what you're thinking-"

"You reckon I'm scared of you?"

"Aren't you?"

"You'd never hurt me, Harley." He had said without an inkling of doubt. Really, in fashion as to that of a true and noble Hufflepuff. "Not in that way at least."

"But in other ways?"

He shrugged. "Sometimes you don't do what I wish you'd do."

"Like what?"

Peter had smiled then. And damn had it proved weakening. Earning, in consequence, a rush of shame and guilt cinched between arousal that Harley could no longer quite conceal. And Peter had found it there - written along the edges of his mouth. Else he wouldn't have had dared to take it so easily. Tugging Harley's hair as the air between them had mused into a single shared breath.

  
"Something along those lines," Peter had whispered against his lips, the small space only a fraction of a pause before he had surged once more.

And this time, Harley had obeyed - falling prey to the dominance on full display for everyone to see. And yes - he had suspected it all along, hadn't he? That the badger was the more bolder and daring one. Kindness a mere candle compared to the flames of aggression and desire found deep within their hearts.

"Wait-" Harley had said, arms interlocked and holding steady onto the boy now nearly draped into his lap. "I - I don't get it."

"What's to get?"

"If this is what you wanted - then why am I the last to know?"

"I wasn't sure before. I said maybe - but then you took that maybe and brooded it over like a typical Slytherin. I had thought-" He paused, "that perhaps you had come to regret it."

_"I'd never regret you, Peter."_

Again, the smile had nearly melted Harley into the sole of his shoes. With Peter, ever the mythical being - maintaining that light that had continued to dance about the tips of his own delicate mouth, and captivating eyes. Unfairly framed by the same soft tuffs of unruly brown hair.

"Good. 'Cause now that I know I'm permitted to do this-"

The boy had marked Harley once more. The delicateness broadening onto his nose and cheeks - each light press of lips tip-toeing the line between nibbling and outright biting.

"Wizard God," Harley had said, pulling back with a laugh, "you're a proper minx, aren't you?"

"Suppose I am. Would that change anything?"

"No," Harley had quickly decided.

"Just as if I were a lion?"

"Just as you are a Puff."

"And you - a Slytherin." Peter had finished. To which Harley had nodded to. His own smile neat and complacent.

"And what of me being muggleborn?"

The lightness to the moment had corroded easily. The mass of Peter's own body digging deeper into Harley's lap as the other had awaited in response. His eyes every bit larger, and stilled with that same sort of looking still improperly un-categorized.

"What of it?" Harley had asked, affirming his hold around Peter's torso. "For all I know, it created the best part of you."

"...and your friends?"

"Michelle likes you," he had said with a small inclination of a shrug, "shes the closest thing I have outside of you. So really, that's all that matters. And even then, I wouldn't care."

"And your father?"

As before, the question had felt of lead. His arms now no longer an assuring touch for the other to revel in, but a lifeline that Harley had hoped to be strong enough to deter his father from whisking Peter away from him.

"Hes never cared for anything about me before. So why should I bother to please him now?"

"He wont like it."

"I don't care. See - I've been yours since the first time I spoke to you. When your Uncle Ben died. You were so - real, and honest. And strong. Unlike anyone I've ever known. And perhaps it's time that I tried to do the same.

Peter had cradled forward - his lips still sinfully teasing along the ends of his cheeks. "I still have it, you know. Your handkerchief. Kept it as proof of you having a heart. But that wasn't the first you spoke to me, Harley."

"Yes, it was."

"No," he had laughed, "I had figured you'd forgotten. But we met in Diagon Alley - during our robe fittings. You had been so sure of being placed in Slytherin house - and I... Well, I had wanted to be something more. To prove everyone else wrong."

"You haven't a thing to prove-"

"I know that now. But I hadn't before. Not till you." He paused, his minds eye returning to that unseen and privileged land. Just as that time with the portrait. Only now it had a time - and a face that Harley could almost force himself to see.

"You said to me," Peter had continued, just as Harley had reached for his hand - entangling their fingers together in a rather intimate sort of satisfaction. "Don't worry so much about it. Each house holds their virtues - each with their own merits and weaknesses. If you're just just - then be the best just that there is. Or if you're wise, then wisely think of ways to best all others. And if your brave, then don't be arrogant and things just may work out. But I hope you're cunning. For then this won't be the last I see of you."

"You remembered all that?" Harley had chuckled. Still racking his memory for any glimpse of remembrance over such a speech.

"Only 'cause you said it," Peter had nodded, "its not everyday that someone steals your heart just by standing there..."

"You ruined me, Keener. For anyone else."

"No," Harley had assured with a light peck against Peter's temple, "I'm simply the poor defenseless snake fooled by a kind and tempting badger. You, Peter Parker, ruined me."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, it's been a fun ride.
> 
> To be honest, it's been some time since I've written a fic that's taken such time to be completed. And I'm grateful for those who appreciated this small tale for what it is. (And what it's not).  
> I do suspect that I miss writing, and perhaps I need to freshen up again in order to get the groove back and begin updating new things on the regular. I do know that I need to return to basics and have a chat with proper structure and all that. So here's hoping! Haha


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